A Matter of Matter
by Tannin Tele
Summary: Seven. Seven days. Seven days to save the world, or it all resets. Frisk has no control, not that they ever had much to begin with. They've been trapped underground for what feels like ages, living the same seven days over and over and over - Frisk was tired. But just because Frisk was miserable didn't mean everyone else had to be.


**_A Matter of Matter_**

 **TanninTele**

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 _Disclaimer: All rights belong to the creator of UNDERTALE, voiding that of original content and characters._

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 **DAY 4 of 7**

 _"I just wasn't ready for the responsibility."_

Frisk released a stuttered gasp, smacking their head on the underside of the bench as they reached for the quiche.

-1 HP.

"Ow," A hand curled around their scalp. "That wasn't nice," they admonished the flower gently, voice rough from disuse. Pulling themselves up onto the bench, Frisk cradled the Abandoned Quiche to their chest. They still trembled faintly from the bitter cold of Snowdin.

Fighting with Papyrus had taken most of their HP and it was becoming harder and harder to muster any DETERMINATION to SAVE.

Shakily unwrapping the quiche from its tinfoil wrapping, they took a moment to wrinkle their nose. Burnt spinach and egg. _Disgusting_ , they thought, although they were careful not to say it aloud for the quiche's sake. It was already emotionally damaged enough. Carefully plugging their nostrils, Frisk shoved the crumbling quiche into their mouth. They could only finish half before their jaw simply could not chew any longer.

Re-wrapping it with foil, they tucked the No-Longer-Abandoned Quiche into the pocket of their frayed, damp trousers.

To be fair, their trousers were the most intact part of their ensemble. The old, tattered tutu saved from behind the waterfall was absolutely _soaked_ and infested with a strange, water-borne mold. Frisk still wore their favorite striped shirt, but it had long ago been cut into ribbons from the flying projectiles of Snowdrake's attack. Not to mention the faint singes from Toriel's fireball attack. Frisk winced in remembrance.

Still. They wore it. Fashion be damned.

They felt Toriel's phone vibrating gently against their hip, and Frisk grimaced. They slid to their belly and ducked their head into the crook of their elbow, ignoring the call.

Only Papyrus would call them down here.

Toriel never answered the phone, and Frisk had long ago stopped trying to call, anyhow.

Having lived this timeline before, Frisk could easily guess his next words. _"HELLO? THIS IS PAPYRUS! HOW DID I GET THIS NUMBER . . .? I JUST DIALED EVERY NUMBER SEQUENTIALLY UNTIL I GOT YOURS! SO . . . WHAT ARE YOU WEARING . . . ? I'M . . . ASKING FOR A FRIEND."_

The phone rang and rang.

The Echo Flower copied the sound and began repeating it back. _"Ring . . . ring . . ."_

But nobody picked up.

Frisk thumbed the _off_ button and glanced defeated, at the Echo Flower. "Hush," they told it.

 _"Hush,"_ it repeated back, uncharacteristically soft. _"Hush."_

Head cushioned by their arm, basking in the soft tinkling of the Waterfall's ambiance, Frisk fell into a restless state of sleep.

* * *

 **DAY 6 OF 7**

Frisk faded in and out of consciousness until a gentle, hesitant hand shook them awake. Frisk startled, brown eyes staring up in genuine surprise at the skeleton looming over them. They scrambled for a weapon and the quiche fell from their pocket, landing on the stone with a despondent _thump._

"whoa, kid," Sans said, mouth twisting in a wry smile. "don't look so spooked. i'm not _that_ scary."

Frisk flinched, catching blue from the periphery of their vision. It was only the Echo Flower, glowing in the darkness of the little alcove. _It's fine,_ Frisk told themselves. _This isn't the Ju_ _dgement Hall._

Frisk was confused, though.

This interaction had never happened before.

Sans eyed them, taking in the crumbs at the corner of their mouth and the way their clothes uncomfortably stuck to them. "get a little drenched from the falls, did you?" Sans tucked his hands in the pockets of his jacket. "well, it isn't called Waterfall for nothing. heh. so _water_ you doin' here when the Capital is that'a way?" he nodded his skull out toward the bridge of lotus flowers. "if all you wanted was a nap - a pastime of which I wholeheartedly support - you could'a just stayed at the inn. you know you're welcome at Snowdin anytime, yeah?"

Frisk curled in on themselves, only giving the smallest of shrugs in response. They had learned by now, the quicker they left Snowdin, the less likely they were to contract hypothermia. That had been a nasty timeline.

"hell," Sans kept talking. "papyrus would prob'ly even let you sleep in his racecar bed, you got 'im so wrapped around your little finger," Sans smiled then, hoping the mention of his brother would encourage Frisk to do the same.

Frisk was barely listening, their gaze drifting off to the side, eyes flickering in thinly concealed agitation.

They counted on their fingers the time spent in the UNDERGROUND. They were in the RUINS for three days total, each moment spent basking in Toriel's comfort and unconditional love, until, of course, she tried scorching Frisk to death. They spent another day in Snowdin, maneuvering around Papyrus' puzzles. After sparing the taller skeleton, Frisk had staggered their way into Waterfall and fell into a dead heap on the bench.

They hadn't realized how long they'd slept. It was hard to distinguish passing time in UNDERGROUND, but Frisk knew - with the same instinctive confidence that they knew their name - it was day six of seven. Frisk had never stayed hidden for so long; it was only natural her friends would worry.

Frisk sighed.

Only one day until the next reset, and this would all be just a distant memory. So . . . what was the harm in having a little conversation with a good friend?

" - kid. kiddo, hey, you listening?" Sans jostled their shoulder. The hollow space where his eyes were supposed to be seemed almost endless, his pupils barely pinpoints.

"I," Frisk coughed, voice barely above a whisper. "I didn't realize I was asleep for so long."

"long enough for pap to worry," Sans said. If he could, he'd be frowning. "he tried calling you like, a billion times, but you wouldn't answer. dunno how he got your number, anyhow."

"He dialed every number sequentially until he found mine," Frisk said without thought.

San's eyes narrowed.

"huh," is all he said. "how'd you know that?"

Frisk shivered under his gaze.

Sans dismissed the thought. "doesn't matter, i suppose. point is, for all pap knew, he was sending you to your death. i was the last to see you alive, passing the sentry station and undyne was horribly inconvenienced when you never appeared in Waterfall. i figured you couldn't have made it far."

It was sweet, Frisk supposed.

Sans had never taken the initiative to actually seekthem out in any other timelines.

It didn't matter, anyhow. Frisk only had a day left, before everything was reset back to the RUINS, back to buttercups and friendliness pellets, Toriel and guilt and a box filled with children's shoes. _Asgore collects human souls, Toriel collects human soles._

Frisk let out a weak chuckle. Sans would like that one, but - looking into his unblinking gaze - Frisk remembered he wouldn't understand the context. Not in this snuffled, wiping their nose on their sleeve. "Hey Sans," they said shakily. "Why did the skeleton want a friend?"

The monster twitched, as though ready to say _'I know that one,'_ but instead he gave a small smirk. "dunno, kid. why?"

"They were _bonely."_

He let out a hearty chuckle, grasping Frisk's soft hand with their phalanges. He pulled them up. "that's a good one. i'll have'ta use it someday. real _humerus."_

"Where are we going?" Frisk asked, stepping off the lotus bridge, the petals releasing a wet _squelch._

"you look a bit worse for wear, kid. you've lost your quiche and you've worn that sweater down to the bone," he winked. "we'll find you something warmer back at Snowdin. good thing i know a shortcut."

Frisk nearly lost their grip as the Waterfall seemed to seep away into darkness. The colors faded and sharp wind met their skin as Snowdin molded around them. Sans wrapped a warm arm over their shoulders, squeezing them close.

"come on in, bud. welcome to _casa de skelebros."_

Frisk and Sans ducked into the house's warmth, the air smelling heavily of burnt tomatoes and MTT-Brand Beauty Yogurt.

In this timeline, Frisk had narrowly avoided their date with Papyrus, seeing no use in exploring their house time and time again. There were only so many times the elongated sink and the Great Dirty Sock Dispute could amuse them. But it was nice. Their house was warm and familiar, and it wasn't as though Frisk had anything better to do.

"welp. the train stops here," Sans collapsed onto the couch, sinking into his well-worn spot. "papyrus is in his room, pacing a hole in the carpet. y'know, he got all dressed up for your 'date' and was awful disappointed when you never showed . . . for two whole days," he said pointedly.

Frisk tactfully ignored him, taking a moment to stroke his pet rock. It released a soft purr, immobile but no less alive.

"not a great way to treat your boyfriend," Sans added, voice sharp. "you're giving that rock more attention than you've paid pap."

"We're not dating," Frisk mumbled.

"aren't you?" his eyes flashed. "paps! got a special delivery for ya."

Frisk winced, covering their face. "How could you?" They whispered in mock betrayal.

Still. There really was no reason to avoid Papyrus. He was perfectly lovely, he just -

"SANS?" a familiar voice came from upstairs. "IS THAT YOU? HAVE YOU FOUND THE HUMAN?"

\- was so very loud.

"come see for yourself, bro," Sans called out with a lazy smile. Frisk glared at him, and his grin grew wider. "they're not lookin' too well, might wanna get them some hand-me-downs from when you were a baby bones."

"Baby bones?" Frisk said, affronted.

"baby bones," Sans confirmed. "come, kid, take a seat."

Resigned to their fate, Frisk laid next to Sans, trying to look as pitiful as possible. It wasn't difficult.

With a familiarity undue to the circumstances, Sans ran his fingers through their matted, dirty locks. He tugged on a tangle teasingly. "he's coming. prepare yourself," he said dramatically.

Hearing the hard thumps of Papyrus descending the steps, Frisk looked bleary-eyed up at the taller skeleton.

He was beaming at them, a pile of old clothes folded in his arms. "HUMAN! I'M GLAD TO SEE YOU ALIVE AND NOT DEAD IN A DITCH SOMEWHERE. YOU MUST HAVE BEEN PLAYING HARD TO GET, HAVING ME WAIT SO LONG. BUT! IT IS NO MATTER, FOR I WOULD WAIT 'TIL THE END OF THE EARTH FOR YOU!" he declared theatrically. Frisk blinked at him, oddly touched by the statement.

Papyrus leaned forward, nervous. "THAT'S WHAT THE OFFICIAL DATING HANDBOOK SUGGESTED I SAY. THERE . . . THERE WAS A LIST OF ROMANTIC DECLARATIONS. WAS IT . . . APPROPRIATE? FOR A FIRST DATE? TO COME ON SO STRONG?"

"just strong enough, i think," Sans said, endlessly amused.

"GOOD! WELL, HUMAN, I'M PLEASED YOU'VE COME TO ME FOR ASSISTANCE. YOU MUST HAVE READ THE OFFICIAL DATING HANDBOOK TOO, FOR STEP THREE IS 'PUT ON NICE CLOTHES TO SHOW YOU CARE'. I'M VERY FLATTERED YOU'VE DECIDED TO TAKE FASHION TIPS FROM ME." He dropped the clothes onto the couch, pointing at an orange and yellow-striped sweater. "I THINK THIS MAKES A NICE FASHION STATEMENT, DON'T YOU? IT'LL MATCH WITH THAT TUTU, ONCE WE WASH OUT THE DUST AND MOLD."

There wasn't a bathroom, as monster food tended to dissolve rather than be digested, so Frisk changed in Papyrus' room.

The sweater was overlong, falling past their skinned knees. Frisk spun, the hem flaring around them dramatically. They wore a pair of baggy black sweatpants underneath, the fabric so warm and soft, (and a bit ketchup-stained), that they suspected it was actually a hand-me-down from Sans. Frisk kept their shoes, as they'd been hiking boots and were actually quite sturdy. Tying their hair back with the white ribbon, Frisk supposed they looked alright.

Fashion wasn't a priority of theirs.

In one timeline, when they were closer, Sans had lent Frisk his jacket.

It was the nicest thing anyone had ever done.

In another, Toriel's box of shoes was put to good use.

In most, Frisk was left to scavenge using the other lost human's abandoned accessories. Manly bandana served as a good sling when Undyne broke their arm and the ballet shoes had helped when dodging Mettaton's attacks, nimbly posing for the audience of ten thousand. The apron was one of Frisk's favorites. They donned it when cooking with Undyne, in preparation for a mess of tomato sauce.

Frisk closed their eyes.

Cooking with Undyne, posing with Mettaton, dating Papyrus and Alphys -

These _events,_ they'd all lost their thrill after the first dozen or so resets. Frisk loved their friends, would die for them - _has died for them -_

But the resets were taking their toll.

In the beginning, they would risk life and limb to reach the barrier, barely resting or eating unless necessary to reach the Surface. It took a while to get past Flowey's final form, a mass of sharp teeth, vine-like arms, the human souls writhing inside him. It was dark, and Frisk had been scared, horrified . . . when Flowey came back with a soft frown and told them; _Go back. Shatter the barrier. Make friends._

They tried. God, how they'd tried. Reset after reset, Frisk slowly managed to break past Alphys' defenses and learn the truth about the amalgamates. The True Lab is Frisk's least favorite location in all of Undertale.

They wondered, once, listening to the tapes of Prince Asriel and the first human . . . to cross the barrier, could they take a soul from any monster, or only Boss Monsters? Could she complete the Royal Sibling's plan and take six souls from the surface, to free them?

They dismissed the idea, furious with themselves. They could never _kill._ Never. Not a friend, not even a human. The seventh day, still trapped in the lab - Shyren's sister was a tough nut to crack - the world would reset. And they began again, with renewed vigor and stubborn DETERMINATION.

Frisk had managed to break the barrier in less than a day once, saving their friends and family from the God of Hyperdeath. The sunlight had been a breath of relief, and Frisk hoped - _god,_ how they'd hoped - the loop would be satisfied.

It wasn't.

They tried everything.

There were loops where they wouldn't leave the RUINS, choosing to stay with Toriel until the seventh night and all the progress they'd made was swept away. They've told Alphys to keep lying. They've refused to fight Asgore until he served them tea. They once stalked Sans until the skeleton had - reluctantly- given them the keys to their bedroom. They visited W.D. Gaster behind the grey door in Waterfall, convincing the wraith in sign language to _stay, stay, stay._ He stayed with Frisk until the seventh night, the child willingly wasting away in the grey room without food or water just for the chance at freedom. At knowledge. But even the long-dead Royal Scientist, whose life's work had been to study DETERMINATION, couldn't help them.

Froggit's death had been an utter, total accident, a frustrated swing of their stick - until it wasn't.

And before they knew it, Frisk was spending their seventh day covered in dust, surrendering in front of Sans, tears winding an ugly trail through the blood and other viscous matter layering their skin. They let themselves be struck, a bone to their spine, before waking up in the RUINS.

They quickly became paranoid of the voices in their head. Tentative. They avoided the Toy Knife at all costs, and stayed bedridden at Toriel's for all seven days, letting her comfort them after nightmares. Eventually, after a dozen loops, Frisk forced themselves to slip out into the UNDERGROUND, desperate to ensure _they_ were all still alive. Everyone they'd killed.

Frisk spent an entire timeline befriending each of the monsters they'd killed, following 01 and 02 on their date, giving them encouragement. Reuniting Snowdrake and his father. Composing with Shyren until she gained her confidence back.

After all was said and done, they stopped in front of Flowey.

And they listened.

They listened to Flowey preach about regicide and thought about the Royal Siblings. _"You're a buttercup, right?"_ Frisk had asked Flowey, interrupting his monologue. The flower had stuttered to a halt, face twisting in a grotesque fashion. _"Yeah, what about it?"_

 _"Teach me how to absorb a monster's soul. Help me finish Chara's plan. Help me SAVE them."_

It'd been difficult, choosing a monster worthy of death.

In a stroke of impulsiveness, Frisk had reached out and snatched Mettaton's soul during a heart-to-heart. The robot had been, understandably, taken aback. Having Mettaton in their head, in their chest, was the most obnoxious thing Frisk had ever experienced. Second only to the loops. With Mettaton close to heart, Frisk slipped under Asgore's trident before he could destroy the option to mercy. They'd dived through the barrier and landed - hard - on a bed of buttercups.

Seven days had passed without Frisk noticing.

They'd screamed, their efforts all for _nothing -_ terrifying the living hell out of Toriel when the goat had found them.

Frisk had fought like the devil, biting and snarling as Toriel tried in vain to restrain them. _"You'll hurt yourself, dear one - "_ Toriel had begged.

That was their intent. Throwing herself out of Toriel's grasp, Frisk bashed their head against the stone walls, the world going dark around them. They woke again - not in the bed of flowers, but at Toriel's, a bandage around their head. They'd been comatose for the entire seven days.

And they were finally getting the rest they so desperately needed.

The world looped, and before Toriel could even find them, Frisk would knock themselves down to 1 HP or egg Flowey into suffocating them with his vines. It became a game, to be killed by all those Frisk had killed, barring Papyrus who could never deliver the final blow. It was a punishment, they supposed. They've leapt into the frozen water of Snowdin and died of hypothermia and they've jumped into the magma-filled CORE and hope for a better ending than Gaster's.

How they died didn't matter, anyway. Friendliness pellets. Fireballs. Spears. Suicide. Wasting away.

It was all temporary. It didn't _matter._ Nothing mattered but that damn RESET button.

Frisk was so tired. They were so, so, so tired.

RUINS, Snowdin, Waterfall. Those were the safe places. Frisk could stay at Toriel's, or find a mysterious cave to hide in, a warm bed to sleep in at the Snowed Inn, or hide away on a nice bench. It was easy, it was simple and losing those friendships didn't hurt because they were untouchable.

There were so many endings. They'd made so many friends and learned so many secrets. And for what?

Undyne taught them to fight, Alphys showed them anime and, in one painful timeline, extracted their DETERMINATION. Mettaton killed them over and over until Frisk learned how to jack his wiring. Sans taught them how to pick locks and how to treat insomnia, the River Person offered advice at every turn, Napstablook made Frisk their own theme music.

And Papyrus - Papyrus, Frisk was now learning - could and would sacrifice life and limb to make Frisk happy.

But did it matter? Did it matter at all?

Perhaps not.

But just because Frisk was miserable didn't mean everyone else had to be. For this one timeline, at least.

Frisk closed their eyes, smoothing their hands over the soft wool of Papyrus' sweater.

"One date," they whispered to themselves, filled with weary DETERMINATION. Frisk swallowed tightly, plastering on a smile. "Eternity can spare one date."

* * *

 **T**


End file.
